A Wake Delayed…
Janet Julianne Garrison pulled her car into the parking bay along Lakeshore Drive. She grabbed plastic bag holding a six-pack of beer and sat next to a friend sitting on the seawall.
“You know, I was about today years old when I learned that this parking bay was actually part of the street, back in the day,” she said.
Bishop Mike O’Donnell looked up and smiled.
“Yeah, the cops called this ‘Dead Man’s Curve.’ I don’t know if anyone actually died flying through here, but there were some crazy skids and slides through it. I remember, one time, dude in a nice Camaro skid into a friend’s old-ass pickup. The car had a couple of thousand dollars of body damage, and the old-ass truck had a scratched. I think if that truck could laugh, it would still be laughing.”
“Those were my Uptown days, I guess. We had relatives out here, but our partying was usually closer to home,” JJ replied.
“Then those two reprobates you want to grad school with showed you the depravities of the Lakefront,” Mike said. He was referring to “Bubba” Watanabe and Renard Alciatore.
JJ snorted.
“Speaking of which, usually I’m bringing beer out here to talk Ren off one ledge or another. Today, it’s you. Meg said you were in your feels a bit.”
“Well, she’s right,” he said, holding out his hand for a can of “Paradise Park” from Urban South Brewery. She passed one to him, then grabbed one for herself, popping the top and taking a deep swig.
“It was Dixie when we first started coming out here. Then Abita. Now, Paradise Park is our go-to lager. Where’s your car, anyway?” She asked.
“Walked over the levee from my office on campus,” Mike explained.
“Good, you can have most of this six-pack, then.”
“Just make sure there are no phone-cams pointed at us. Drunk bishop doesn’t make for good Instagram,” he said.
“Shit, that’s solid Instagram content, but I see your point. How about we make out? Then they won’t be talking about your beer-drinking,” JJ suggested, with a smile.
“Incorrigible!” Mike replied.
“Admit it, you’re tempted.”
“I’m amazed how many housewives think flirting with a bishop is OK. I keep wanting to call their bluff, but then I’d end up being the dog who caught the car,” he said.
“They’d be the one catching the car. Probably would have fun,” she said, with a wink.
“I dunno, some of them are so grumpy, I don’t know if they know how to have decent sex anymore. What they need are girlfriends.”
JJ laughed.
“We’ve gone from tipsy you to horny you to liberal you! I like it!”
Mike smiled, a bit sad, but still it was a smile.
“Yeah, I do too.”
“OK, so, what’s on your mind, Your Excellency? Even Meg didn’t have a clue why you checked out for the afternoon.”
He sighed, finished his beer, and reached for another one.
“I learned that a guy I went to high school with passed away. Now, I’m getting to an age where that’s not shocking news, but this guy died three years ago. Covid was raging and it caught him.”
“Aw, shit,” she said.
“Thing is, he was a physician. He knew better. So many of them did. What got him caught up in it was that his son contracted the virus. Trying to heal his son killed him as well. We weren’t the best of friends back in the day, and he moved away after college, and now there won’t be any reunions, old-guy reminiscing, you know, the shit people do who haven’t seen each other in a thousand years.”
The Call
Mike paused for a moment, taking another sip. He set the can down and stood up, facing Lake Pontchartrain. Spreading his arms wide, he summoned his psychic energy.
“I call and entreat the Guardians of the Elements, Raphael, Michael, Gabriel, and Uriel! Continue to guard and protect the souls of our loved ones and heroes!”
The colors of Archangels appeared as he called their names, merging together into pure white light. Firey sunlight was blown upward by a powerful wind, as the waters of the lake formed a waterspout off the seawall. As Mike and JJ marveled at the display, a rumble in the ground made them turn around. A mound of earth formed and a muscular Black woman in a white gown stepped forward.
“Uriel!” JJ gasped.
“Yes, love. I bring the blessings of the fertile ground—don’t worry, you, we’re not getting you fertile!” The archangel laughed as she approached JJ and kissed her forehead. She then walked over to Mike and embraced him.
“It’s sweet of you to worry about your lost friend. Rest assured, he is far from lost, as he was reunited with his son and many others. The await another turn of the Wheel, where they will continue their part in the Work. Take care, Michael. You know the best thing you can do is to keep moving forward.”
Uriel released him, winked at JJ, and returned to the mound of Earth. With a bright flash of white, the mound vanished.
“Wow!” JJ said.
“Yeah,” he replied.
“All of a sudden, I’m hungry,” she said.
Mike laughed.
“That’s often a by-product of angelic interactions.”
“OK, then. How about we go get some dinner and you can tell me stories of your friend?” She suggested.
“A two-person Irish wake?”
She reached for her phone.
“I’ll text the gang. Everyone deserves a proper Irish wake, even if it’s a couple of years delayed!”
© 2024, Edward J. Branley
